Dinner with the Devil
by tinseltown
Summary: One Shot where Jane's cousin, Emma, has a frustrating conversation with Loki right after the deception he pulled off in Thor: TDW is finally found out by Thor-and she discovers the Trickster is always playing some sort of game.


Emma never imagined she'd been meeting Loki. Oh, she'd thought about him sometimes; it was unavoidable, when her cousin, Jane, was the Norse god Thor's paramour. Jane had been with Thor for five years now and Emma had finally had the pleasure of meeting him three years ago, after Jane and Thor had defeated Malekith. Emma had at first been awed by the god who towered over her (though everyone towered over Emma—at a hundred pounds and 5'4", she was a slip of a girl), but he had won her over. His good cheer and enthusiasm for life couldn't be contained. And then, this year, Thor and Jane had allowed her to come to Asgard, finally, for a visit.

But then Thor had discovered Loki's deception, three years after Loki had done it. Thor's anger had shaken the ceilings of Asgard's palace. Thunder had crashed and boomed in the skies and lightning had flashed and the skies had turned a sickening shade of stormy green-gray. There had been bellowing and furniture smashed behind closed doors and Emma had hastily wondered if it was time to go home. And then Thor had suddenly forced himself into an eerie calmness which was almost more alarming than his temper.

And now he, Jane, Emma, and Loki were seated at a dinner table. Loki's arms were bound by magical chains to his chair, flexible enough for him to eat—but not escape. His ankles were also bound to his chair. His plate of food was untouched. Thor ate ferociously, angrily, as if determined to ignore Loki. Jane and Emma exchanged tentative glances, fearing for Thor's sanity. Ignoring Loki couldn't be healthy. He needed to address his brother and his deception. Preferably in a way that didn't involve breaking half of the palace.

Emma had wanted to steal glances at the deceitful brother but found she could not look at him. She was too afraid. She'd never been a coward before—but suddenly, the idea of a mad, power-crazed God of Mischief and Mayhem scared her. He was the kind of madman who would literally do anything to get what he wanted—and Emma didn't want to look at him. She didn't know what she would see in his eyes. Pure insanity? Absolute deadness? Either way, she didn't want to see.

"You don't find the food to your liking?" Thor growled at Jane.

Jane frowned. "The food is...fine...but Thor, I think we should talk about—"

"MORE WINE!" Thor roared, making Emma jump. A serving girl scurried forward and refilled Thor's goblet of wine and he drowned the whole thing in one forced gulp, slamming the goblet back down—though Emma noticed his hand was trembling slightly. He was so upset, she realized, but he was trying to control his anger and emotions for her and Jane's sake. He didn't want to frighten them. He wasn't doing a great job, but someone like Thor had probably never been this conscious of other people's comfort and feelings before, and he was trying to make an effort. It was probably taking a lot for him to even control his rage and hurt at yet another one of Loki's betrayals this much, and suddenly Emma felt bad for him. Both of his parents were gone (whether Odin was dead was the question) and he had to deal with Loki's insanity all on his own now.

"And you, Emma?" he asked roughly. "The food?"

"I'm not very hungry—"

"Bah, you need to eat, you're too weak!" He suddenly leaned across the table and grabbed her slender wrist in his enormous hand. "I could break your wrist with the slightest touch!"

Emma was now a bit frightened. "Uh, yeah, please don't," she said, uselessly attempting to tug her arm away. It looked all too thin in his simply enormous hand.

He suddenly let go and stood up, throwing his chair back so forcefully it smashed to the ground. "I need air," he said abruptly, expression a turmoil of emotions Emma couldn't quite read. He stalked from the room, the ground shaking slightly with every stomp.

Jane and Emma sat there in silence for a minute. Finally, Emma said, "Maybe you should...you know, go after him?"

Jane looked at her. "Will you be okay?"

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Emma.

Jane looked at her shrewdly and then stood up. "Try not to break anything."

"Excuse me!" said Emma, offended. "Break anything?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "Come on, Emma. You trip over air. You've broken more bones than anyone I know."

Emma bit her lip. This was true. Jane ruffled her hair and then left after Thor. She could probably calm him down; Thor had a real soft spot for Jane Foster.

Emma sat for a moment, still, staring blankly at the painting on the opposite wall—it depicted a golden woman wearing a white helmet with golden spikes coming out of the top and a white gown—so lost in her own blank thoughts that when he spoke next to her, she jumped quite violently.

"Humans are so delicate."

Heart hammering, she slowly looked at Loki, swallowing. She'd almost forgotten he'd been silently sitting here this whole time. He was pale, with shoulder-length black hair and a face that seemed all angled cheekbones and hollow cheeks and eyes that seemed mad. He wore all-black. His lips were bloodless and pale. He didn't look healthy. Despite being a king for three years, his deception appeared to have taken a toll on him.

"Ex...Excuse me?" she asked, not sure what he was saying or why he was saying it.

"Humans are so delicate," he repeated. "You break your own bones as easily and as often as serving girls here break dishes."

Oh. He was referring to what Jane had said. "You don't break your own bones?" she asked.

"Others break our bones for us, in battle," he said simply. "We do not break our own bones."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say that. She studied the cold, now clumpy stew on her plate for a moment and then looked back at him. He was studying her, expressionless. "Is your dad dead?" she blurted out suddenly.

"Wouldn't you love to know?" he asked.

"Why are you even talking to me?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I talk to you the way one might talk to a pet—except I have no affection for you the way one might have for a pet. You are beneath me, but you are suitable, at least, for unburdening my thoughts upon."

Her heart felt funny. It was racing a little too quickly, the way it did when her temper was rising. She looked at him, shocked. "I'm...beneath you?"

He gave her a look. "Rather."

"Why?" she demanded, anger making a bold fool out of her.

"Must I count the reasons?" he said. "The most obvious being your lack of immortality, your delicacy, your wretched culture as humans, your base desires, your fondness for sentiment, your short life spans..."

Emma couldn't find her tongue for a moment. She'd been afraid of him for a while before, but not anymore. She was still afraid, actually—but he had sparked her temper. And Emma had a fierce temper, especially when it came to bigots. And he definitely came off as a bigot. "_We_ have base desires?" she finally demanded, her voice shaking with anger. "Then why have I seen Asgardians get drunk and party and hook up with each other nonstop for the two weeks I've been here?" She flexed her fists once. "And you think humans are immature? Look at you! You're a big baby! You tried to destroy one world and take over another because your daddy never told you that you were ado—"

"ENOUGH!" The words exploded out of him. His face was white with fury and his eyes were dark and he looked like he could have ripped out her throat then.

"YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ADOPTED ONE!" The words exploded right back out of her and she realized she was shaking with rage. "I was adopted too! My parents didn't tell me till last year!"

"And did you grow up with stories that your birth race were monsters and demons as to be feared and hunted, as well?" he sneered.

Emma momentarily halted. "No," she admitted after a pause. "But they did tell me my parents were worthless druggies who gave me up so they could keep up their lifestyle of shooting themselves up full of crank every night." Absentmindedly she rubbed her left inner forearm, the exact location someone would inject crank. Her Achilles heel. The thought of her worthless birth parents. Her tone was bitter. "So it's not like my birth family is so great. But why did you try to punish the people who loved you?"

"Because they wanted to eventually use me as a tool," he said simply. "They were raising me for purpose and purpose only."

"You're a prince," Emma pointed out rudely. "Of course you were raised for purpose. Royalty always have to play a role. Thor has roles to play too, duties to see to." She paused for a moment and then quietly asked, "Do you really think your mother was only raising you for purpose?"

Loki's lips tightened and his knuckled whitened. "Do not talk of my mother. You did not know her."

"But you did," said Emma. "And you know the truth."

"I should strike you for your insolence right now," said Loki. "I would, were I not bound to this infernal chair."

Emma rubbed her temples, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. She didn't know why she was talking to him. She absentmindedly ripped a biscuit to shreds and then ate a bite, swallowing with a dry, cotton-y throat. He was infuriating and clearly had years of emotional baggage and damage. Speaking to him wasn't going to fix him or make him see sense. He would only toy with her and insult her and threaten her. So why couldn't she stop talking to him?

"What are you thinking?" he asked suddenly.

"That you're toying with me," she said honestly. "You're going to mess with me and insult me and threaten me—but you have too many emotional issues to ever be reasoned with. And you know nothing about tolerance or honor." Emma lived by a strict code of honor and integrity, especially when regarding the tolerance of different types of humans and other beings. She sighed. "I don't know why I'm talking to you. You have issues. And you're not going to stop until either you, or Thor, are dead. Are you?"

"You never know," he said thoughtfully. "I do grow weary of constant struggle."

Emma looked at him, the shadowed panes and angles of his face, and suddenly started laughing.

"Does something amuse you?" he asked delicately, a hint of danger in his voice.

"You do," she replied. "You're intelligent. You're handsome. You could have been a good ruler. God knows why you decided to lose control and start destroying things. You think you're so clever, but had you been a bit cleverer, you could have run a long con and bided your time while pleasantly and sweetly folding your hands together. Thor would have eventually figured out he didn't want the throne and you would have been given the throne easily. God knows why you ruined your own chances at the one thing you wanted."

She looked at Loki and to her satisfaction, he looked extremely taken back by her statements. Finally, he said mildly (his mood swings were getting hard to keep up with), "I may have gone about the things the wrong way, I suppose."

"You think?" she asked sarcastically.

They sat in silence for a while and then she asked, "So what now? You've been found out."

He shrugged. "Thor will get over it. I've done nothing but better Asgard during my reign. My record speaks for itself. I will get the throne back."

"There's so much more to life than ruling," Emma muttered but Loki's face remained impassive. His eyes shifted colors, darkening a bit, but she wasn't sure if he'd heard. "And your dad?" she asked. "Will Thor get over that?"

He smiled a small, tight smile that wasn't truly happy. "Don't you worry about that. Thor will find a way through that." He still hadn't said whether Odin was alive or not. Loki always danced on the line between redemption and damnation, it seemed, but killing Odin would damn him forever in Thor's eyes. Odin was probably alive…or so Emma hoped for Thor's sake.

"You don't seem happy," she said truthfully.

His eyes narrowed. "Bold of you to say so."

"But true," she said.

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But what is happiness, truly?"

He was speaking in riddles and it was starting to supremely frustrate her. "What would make you happy?" she pressed, trying to understand him. He was crazy, oh god, he was—but Emma wanted to understand _why_. So many people had worse problems than him. Where did this anger and insanity come from?

He looked startled and Emma wondered whether anyone had ever asked him what would make him happy. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, acting like he hadn't heard her.

Emma's temper rose. The least he could do was humor her with dignity and not play these childish games. She wanted to hurt him, to make him angry, uncomfortable. She leaned in and said, "What would make you happy, my...sun and stars?" The words fell out of her mouth and she had no idea why she was making a _Game of Thrones_ reference—except for the fact that all these Asgardian settings reminded her perhaps of the otherworldly-ness of _Game of Thrones_...and she wanted to make him uncomfortable.

"My sun and stars," he echoed, as if she were mad, expression utterly bewildered. It made sense. He would have no idea what the expression conveyed. Even Emma had no idea why she said it—except that she wanted to be as bold and strange as possible. And it was working, because he looked completely confused for the first time.

"What would make you happy?" she pushed.

"The throne," he said slowly. "For my brother and father to pay for their deceptions—or my father, at least. To be rid of my tiresome brother breathing down my neck all the time. You."

She almost missed the last part. And then— "Wait, what? Me?"

"You interest me," he said. "You're talking to me. You're asking me questions no seems to want to ask me. If you stayed here with me, I would be happy." His words were sweet—but his tone mocking and dark.

Emma was suddenly uncomfortable. She'd tried to make _him _uncomfortable and now he was turning the tables right back on her. What had she expected from someone called the Trickster? She stood up, pushing her chair back.

"Have I scared you away?" he asked.

"Is anything you've said tonight to me true or was it all a game?" she asked.

"That is for you to decide," he said mildly, though his smile was unpleasant. "Was it truth? Or did I decide to play with the silly, insolent human girl who was trying to understand the monster?" His voice dripped with disdain and barely-concealed contempt.

Emma swallowed, trying to control her anger. She was in over her head here; he would never give a straight answer and she had been stupid to believe he would. Time to go. She curtseyed slowly and sarcastically, staring daggers at him the whole time, and said venomously, "By your leave." And then she turned and left, hoping she had shown him what she thought of his word games.

Had she turned, she might have seen the expression of true loneliness that flashed across the disdain that twisted his pale face, just for a nanosecond—and then concealed again before anyone could see it.


End file.
